Page 88 of The First Time I Saw You
‘When did you tell him?’ I sit forward. He takes a deep breath.
‘The day you left.’
‘But that was weeks ago!’ My hand goes to my mouth as I realise what this means. Samuel doesn’t want me.
‘It was. Look, Sophie, he came to find you, but . . .’ My hurt is followed with optimism, each emotion pushing the other aside, jostling for their moment in the spotlight. ‘He knows about the baby, Sophie, he knows about your . . . new life, your new relationship. It broke him, Sophie.’
‘But how? When? I haven’t seen him – nobody really knows me here!’
‘He saw you through the window; he saw you and your baby and your new . . . friend.’
‘Charlie?’
‘Er, yes, if that’s his name? Samuel was, well, in bad shape when he got back to Ireland. But he’s moved on. He wants you to be happy with your baby and . . . Charlie.’
‘He wants me to be happy raising my child without him?’ My volume rises as I try to make sense of what Bret is saying.
‘Yes. He could see that you were happy. He wants you to be happy.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense! I want to be happy with him! I want him to be part of my baby’s life, I want him to be there when Bean takes—’
‘Bean?’
‘I call my baby Bean.’
‘Oh.’
‘I want him to be there when Bean babbles first words, first steps, I want him to take Bean to the park, to push our child on the swings!’
‘Hold on a minute, Sophie. Are you saying that Samuel is the father?’ This sentence numbs me. The dust mites catching in the bruised light slow their movement and stay suspended, motionless. The clock ticks loudly and determinedly. This isn’t how it was meant to be. This isn’t how I wanted Samuel to find out, but I have no choice.
‘Yes. Samuel is Bean’s father. Charlie is my neighbour, my friend. Nothing more.’
‘But Sammy said it couldn’t be his. He saw you holding each other, he said you were happy.’
‘Happy? I haven’t been happy since the day I left DC, since he betrayed me.’
‘Betrayed you? Sam never betrayed you. He tried to give up his job so you could be together, but they wouldn’t release him from his contract until after the investigation.’
I think of the look on his face as he closed the door behind him that morning, the way he had looked distracted as I stood in front of him wearing his shirt. Had he just given up his career for me?
‘Bret, I need you to give me Samuel’s phone number and address.’
Another pain tightens my insides and I blink back the tears that have formed at the intensity of it.
‘I can’t, Sophie. I told you, he doesn’t know I’m calling you. There are other things, things I can’t tell you about Samuel, he’s not the same person.’
‘Please!’ I rub my lower back again. ‘Please, Bret, I have to speak to him.’
‘I’ll speak to him, I’ll try to explain. I promise. I’m sorry, I, I’ll be in touch. Take care.’
‘No! Wait! I want to tell him, just give me his number. I can explain . . . Please, Bret, please.’
But the line is already dead.
Week Thirty-Three
Samuel
